


Flesh on Flesh

by CozyCryptidCorner



Category: Original Work, exophilia - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Mershark, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Reader is a Dumbass who can't Flirt to save her Life, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25017148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyCryptidCorner/pseuds/CozyCryptidCorner
Summary: Your aquatic trading partner decides he might like a little more than herbs and spell ingredients. This is something you can both agree on.
Relationships: Mershark/Human, Mershark/Reader, Monster/human - Relationship
Comments: 8
Kudos: 241





	Flesh on Flesh

Quickly, you look over your things one more time, fingers skimming over the items in your basket. All easy ingredients for you to get, most found just by foraging out in the woods, so you’re not so particular about parting with them. Glancing out the window again, you double-check the time, the sun slowly sinking over the tips of the mountains, washing the sky in a bright orange glow. After letting out a breath, you step outside, tightening your grip on the basket as if it might just fly right out of your hands.

Your cabin is no longer like the dilapidating, rotting husk it used to be when you first found it, years ago, stumbling through the trees in the frigid air. Biting your lip, you unconsciously pull your cloak tighter, despite the warm summer air still mingling with the evening, and find a little path carved into the earth from your own travels.

The cove is hidden from most people because you rarely see another soul out on the sand. Or maybe it’s your own reputation with the nearest village as a baby eating satanic whore that steers anyone who would be a hindrance out of your path. Not that your business is in any way suffering because of it, no, you’re the perfect alternative to the posh, hypermasculine doctors who don’t seem to take anyone with a primary education worth attention.

Especially when you actually get results.

There’s a more rocky part of the beach, one that obscures anyone wandering on the beach just as a pleasant walk, and you plop yourself and your basket down by a sun-bathing aquatic creature.

“Good evening, Caspian,” you say, flicking at his nose. “How are the affairs within the sea?”

His eyes flicker open, and he glares at you for the transgression of waking him from his nap, but the initial impatience never lasts long, not towards you. “The affairs of the sea are arduous and mysterious in ways that might not be suitable for the frail human mind, love.”

You feel a shiver go down your spine whenever he uses that name for you, _love,_ though as always, you try to brush it off with a nonchalant flip of the hair. “So the usual boring political intrigue, then?”

Caspian lets out a soft exhale of breath in a brief spasm of laughter, then sits up to stare out at the swirling colors of the shifting sky as day turns to night. “All the usual, you already know most of it. Nothing’s changed. People are angry over assumed slights, the king has produced yet another bastard, and there is talk of the queen finally overthrowing him.”

“These talks make me more and more thankful that the government is suckling off the breast of the Catholics, the good Lord knows I wouldn’t do so well in such an environment of intrigue and plots.”

His mouth curves upward, revealing his first set of sharpened teeth. “I think you would have murdered everyone and sat yourself on that throne, love. There’s a bloodlust in you, I’ve noticed, waiting to crawl its way out given the right circumstances.”

 _Blushing,_ you realize that the heat rising to your cheeks means that you’re blushing, so you try to cover it up by twisting away, picking up the basket and looking over the contents one last time to hide your face. With a calming sigh, you turn back to face him, handing the collection of herbs, roots, moss, and whatever else he usually requests. “Everything’s here.”

Caspian takes it, not bothering to check, and passes you a bag made with woven seagrass. The contents are ingredients of all kinds, from crevices and plains where your body and lungs cannot take you. _This_ kind of union is what makes you the most sought-after witch this end of the peninsula, your supposedly “wicked” access to strange, water-based magic makes you a rare commodity.

“Thanks for the run,” you say, staring blankly at the sky. There is an odd sort of atmosphere, you notice, like a thickness in the air. You don’t think it’s natural, or that it’s actually any sort of weather, and after a moment of consideration, you think that it might be emanating out from Caspian himself.

He lets out a sigh, “and the same goes to you.” 

“Do you have anywhere else you have to be, or do you have time for our usual talks?” You only ask because he has been cutting your last couple of meetings short, avoiding your eyes. This sudden openness makes you think that whatever was ailing him has passed, and things will go back to normal.

Caspian sighs out a dramatic breath of air. “Not even the sea can compare to your beauty, so it would be damaging to my eyes if I were to leave, love.”

“Careful, Cas, any other women might think you were flirting with me,” you almost laugh, waggling your eyebrows suggestively.

“I have been since we met, but thank you for almost noticing.” Caspian innocently picks up one of the herb leaves from the basket you provided, looking it over.

You let out a laugh, then realize that he isn’t following suit. Something warm and sharp enters your chest, and your expression is plain on your face. “Wait- I’m sorry, is it true?”

He at least has the forethought to blush a little, his gray skin tinting purple. “Yes. Very relentlessly, might I add, but I have started to rethink my methods.”

It throws you for a loop because now you’re trying to remember in no small detail every one of your little tradeoffs. For the life of you though, you can hardly think of any single time you could for _certain_ say he was trying to get with you, specifically, because he was all flirt and no subtly. Crossing your arms, you narrow your eyes at him, arching your brows in a silly form of defiance. “I think I would remember if you were flirting with me.”

Caspian lets out another loud, tired sigh, rolling over so that he’s right at your side, leaning back on the stone. “Well, exactly why I’ve tried changing things up.”

“So, you like me?” You try to not feel embarrassed when you ask, your brow furrowing. “Like… _like_ me? Not platonically?”

“Yes.”

“You’re lying.” You have to restrain your hands from raising to cover your face, you don’t want to appear to have a blushing schoolyard crush.

“I’m not.” He sounds almost indignant, reaching over and tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I guess just coming out and _saying_ it is the only way to finally get your attention, hm?”

You think you may begin to hyperventilate out of sheer embarrassment if you linger on the possibility of you never noticing his unrelenting advances. Still trying to uphold your facade of cruel indifference, you hold your chin high and smile, almost unkindly. “Prove it.”

Caspian sits up a bit suddenly, placing an arm over your waist, his face moving closer to yours. Immediately, heat fills your belly and chest, and you stay still as he slowly, patiently kisses your mouth in a soft, gentle motion. While his lips are severe and stronger than a human’s, it doesn’t make it somehow hard, or unwanted, only an added oddness that you need to adjust to.

“Does that feel like the kiss of a platonic friend?” As he moves away, you reach up to cup his face, pulling him back for more.

This latest advancement, you suppose, is like the final straw to break the camel’s back, or whatever the saying is, a final, sultry action pulling you into his grasp. And so _you_ kiss _him,_ moving your lips against his in an unsteady, heated action of exploration. Caspian’s fingers end in sharp, pointed claws, you can feel them press up against your waist as he pulls you slower, sitting up to give you easier access to his mouth.

“I take it that you feel the same way?” He manages to gasp when you finally let him breathe, though his forehead presses up against yours, thumb tracing the edge of your jawline.

You lightly pepper his face with your lips as you offer up an excuse for your lack of your own advancements. “I didn’t-” _kiss_ “realize” _kiss_ “that you” _kiss_ “felt this way.”

“Mm,” Caspian’s mouth moves against yours, “I’ll make… a note of that.”

He lifts one of your legs up, wrapping it around his waist, pausing the onslaught of kisses to shift you down against the slightly damp sand. Even with the time outside of the water, his white braids are still wet, the shells and trinkets woven into the strands shimmer in the last gasps of the sun. Hesitantly, as though he is only reassuring himself that you’re here, that you’re _really_ beneath him, he touches your cheek, running his fingers down the side of your face.

You grip his wandering hand in yours, lowering it slowly to your breast, covered with a corset, but Caspian’s eyes darken just the same. Leaning down, he kisses at your neck, sharp teeth grazing your flesh not yet hard enough to actually hurt. His fingers trace the outline of your breast, experimentally tugging on the leather and frowning slightly when it doesn’t come off like thin cotton.

“Right,” you mutter, realizing that your clothes need to come off, and you’re struck with the audacity of clothing to just _exist._ Untangling yourself from him, you undo the laces of your leather corset, his own fingers hovering just over yours as though lying in wait for any orders. Though, once the corset itself is open enough for you to awkwardly shimmy out of, you have your overdress and slip.

Caspian is making a low rumble in his throat as you manage to untangle yourself from the overdress, leaving you in a thin, white slip of an undergarment. His hands, still wet with seawater, press up against your breast, your nipples pebbling up in response to the sudden chill. With a look of awe in his eyes, he traces the outline of your body over the wispy cloth, ghosting the edge of his claw up to your collarbone.

“Where should I start?” He muses to himself, eyes on your body in a fervent state. After just a brief moment of contemplation, he angles his head towards your neck, pressing a kiss right at the center of your throat. You can feel a slight point of his teeth as he gently bites at the skin at the crook of your neck, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a spark of thrill down your spine.

Steadily, he nibbles his way down to your collarbone, folding holding onto your hands with an almost deathlike grip. As your legs wrap around his waist again, you feel the hint of a rising member slipping out of his slit, and you feel a jolt of pleasant heat rolling over your core and through to your fingers and toes at the realization. Careful not to overstimulate any single area, he makes his way back to your face, sharing heated, open-mouthed kisses that has you squirming beneath him like an animal in heat.

There’s a _length_ to his emerging cock, you can tell that just by the way it presses up against your waist. Wriggling for some more blessed friction, you let out a little whimper. Caspian pauses, looking down at you with those ghostly green eyes, and _smiles,_ a sadistic, prideful smile, and you feel a hand snaking its way down your stomach. Your thin underdress bunches up as he finds your soaked flower, the pad of his thumb massaging the tender flesh.

You grab onto his shoulders, slightly opening your legs even more, pressing your mouth up to his neck, letting out a gasp when he finds your clit. A rumble of approval sounds in the back of his throat, one you can feel through your mouth as you give him another kiss. There’s a heat building in your body, you can feel it, like dry grass being thrown onto a smoldering flame, and you have to mentally anchor yourself into the moment lest you go over that edge far too easily.

In an act of defiance, you close your legs, giving Caspian a playful nip on his already swollen lower lip. Without saying anything, you manage to wrestle both him and yourself into opposite positions, with your legs around his waist. He’s on his back, looking up at you as though you hold the key to his salvation. The steady kissing ensues once again, but this time, you’re moving downward on his body.

His length is already peeking out from his body, long, thick, with a bulbous, purplish-gray head leaking out precum. Just to be infuriating, your movement down his strangely textured tail, sucking a trail of hickeys on his chest. Gently taking his cock into your hand, you push it to the side if only to exasperate him, pressing your mouth against the top of his slit.

“You wicked woman,” Caspian chokes, reaching over and placing a hand on top of your head.

You don’t try to hide your smile, licking at the base of his cock. His entire body shudders, and you straddle over his tail, squeezing down with your thighs to anchor yourself in place should he make any unforeseen movements. With both hands busy, either with bracing on his pelvis or by holding his length steady, you take its head on your mouth, running your tongue over the tight, leathery flesh in a circular motion.

Judging from his hissing breath alone, he’s struggling with keeping himself from bucking you clean off. He doesn’t taste the way you thought he might, you ponder, letting your tongue run from base to tip again, though you weren’t sure what you would have been expecting. There is the same kind of musk that comes with being male, yes, but there is an inordinate amount of saltiness to the skin as well, you suppose that comes with the territory of being a resident of the sea, though.

Testing your own body’s boundaries, you take a portion of his cock into your mouth, moving down about halfway along his length. You let your tongue press up against his skin as you try to open your jaw wider, finding a steady pace to bob your head in. While you do this, Caspian holds your hair out of your face and moans like he might die if he doesn’t let those noises out. After letting your jaw grow used to his size, you take him, _all_ of him, feeling his member hit the back of your throat.

As you take him, using your tongue to give your mouth some extra _umph,_ you’re core grows desperate for some attention. Unsteadily, you rock your hips against the underside of his tail, yet it’s not enough. You think you’ve whimpered, but you’re far too gone inside your actions to focus on much more than what’s inside your mouth and what you’re doing with your tongue.

You can tell when he’s about to cum, just by the way he loses control of his pelvis movement, and by the whimpering growl that seems to die before it can leave his throat. After just a moment more, your mouth fills with his seed, far saltier than you expected to the point you almost gag. But you get control over yourself only after a moment, spitting into the lapping waves to the side.

Caspian is spent, you can tell, his hands shaking as he runs his fingers through his hair, then pulls you up by the straps of your underdress. You’re reminded that you’re still wearing _something,_ so you hastily pull the slip off, tossing it senselessly to the side as he is quick to worship whatever he can lay his mouth on first. His kisses are lazy, but gradually pick up the pace, and he is ready to turn the tables on your position so that you’re the one on the ground, legs spread as he makes his way down to your thighs.

It’s like he’s almost mindless except for the prospect of pleasing you, the way he gently nibbles and licks at your inner thigh is both frenzied and calculated. When he finally gets to your flower, Caspian starts by pressing his mouth up against your folds in a simple kiss, then uses his fingers to part them for his tongue. With a whimper, your back arches against the sand, and you have to grab at his shell-woven braids before you’re reduced to insanity.

Caspian, to his credit, is entirely capable of finding that bud between your folds, as most men typically aren’t even aware of its existence. His lips latch onto it, and he _sucks,_ you feel the edges of your vision disintegrate from reality. Methodically, he laps at your slit, running his tongue from end to end, if only to see where you are pleased the most.

He’s watching you, eyes wide and crazed, drinking up every noise, every whine, keen, and sob, and it only seems to strengthen him. His tongue and lips kiss and suck at your puckered skin, and you can feel your core brighten again, the heat sparking everything back into a roaring fire.

The actions are relentless, and your brain seems to find it easier to fizzle out than stay in the moment, and you think you might be crying, but all you can do is hold onto him and beg him for something with words that don’t even register when they leave your mouth. You’re close, so very close, you can feel a climax approaching like an oncoming freight train, and then… and _then…_

You cry out, bucking your hips, but his reaction is only to steady your thighs by wrapping his arms around your waist, holding you tight against his mouth. He’s steadfast against the storm that roars inside your core, seemingly dead set on drinking what runs from your body as waves of pleasure power through every one of your cells. With a loud cry, you tangle your fingers into his hair.

“Caspian,” you gasp out, almost a pathetic whimper, begging for something, but you don’t yet have the words for _what._

“I know, love,” he whispers as he leaves your clit alone with a muted _pop._ “I know.”

He climbs back up your body, pressing his mouth against your pelvic area, stomach, and the center of your chest. Pausing his ascent at your breasts, he presses his mouth against your nipple, running his tongue in circles. At this point, almost exhausted from the orgasm, you can only stroke his hair, offering up little more than a few whimpering breathes of pleasure, but he is nonplussed at that and, in fact, seems pleased.

Giving you only a slight pop of a kiss on the mouth, he moves on to the other one, his teeth almost dangerously close to hurting. As he does so, you can feel the reemergence of his cock against your thigh, rising back to its full, stiff length as he slowly grinds against your legs. The heat inside your core grows again, almost twice as quickly this time, merely on the thought of him _inside_ you, and you have to stop his barrage of kisses to correctly angle yourself against his waist.

You spread your legs out, lifting them both to fit around his groin, and he already knows what you want, he _must,_ but he still takes the time to be absolutely infuriating about it. Slowly, with that fucking _sadistic_ smile on his face, he rubs the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing your slit as he continues to press kisses in your chest.

“How bad do you want it?” He asks, whispering into your ear.

“I’ll fucking rip you apart-”

He laughs, cutting you off with a kiss that sends waves of heat down your spine. Just when you think you’re about to _scream,_ the lust leaves Caspian’s eyes in a moment of startling clarity, and he gently presses his forehead against yours.

“Do you have the ingredients for... um, if-”

“Yes,” you finish breathlessly, nodding, “it’s my most sought after ‘potion’.”

He nods, reassured, and slowly eases the tip of his cock into your entrance, surely, you think, to only tease you into insanity. But miracle of miracles, Caspian finally appears to be overcome with mercy, to the point where he sheathes himself inside, fully. You let out a breathless cry of _relief,_ rolling your head back as he fills you to the brim, the friction between him and you so perfectly delicious that you think you may _die._

“Caspian,” you whimper.

“Yes, love?” A primordial expression comes over him.

“It feels so good.” You’re hoping the compliments will tempt him to fuck you into a crater on the sand, though you are entirely aware that it may backfire.

“Does it?” He moves against you then, arms resting just above your shoulders, mouth pressed against your cheek. “Tell me more, love.”

“Uh,” you don’t think you can collect enough brain cells to say anything else, but you manage, “you fill me so nicely- you’re so- _oh-_ you’re so big-”

Caspian lets out a lusty moan in your ear, and you feel his entire body shudder. “It’s all for you, love, just tell me what else you want, what you _need,_ I’ll do it.”

“This,” you gasp sharply when he manages to thrust _just so,_ “this is already perfect, you fit inside me so well.”

What you tighten the grip of your legs on his back, ignoring the odd scratching sensation you feel as you so, and you shift your arm enough to pull his face closer. Caspian slows his pace down enough to offer up a few sloppy kisses, his face flushed and breath unsteady. Careful of his teeth, he presses his mouth up against your neck, almost in a sign of defeat, his thrusting almost becoming unsteady.

“You’re beautiful,” he gasps in your ear, “fuck, just so _perfect.”_

You feel a bit of thrill run through your body as he says that. As if in response, you feel a tremble in your hips as the event horizon of your climax approaches again. Almost pathetically, you whimper out his name, miserable with how close, yet so far your body feels to satisfaction.

“I know,” he says again, reassuringly, “I feel it, too.”

You cum, harder than the time before, a hot, pulsing glow running down your core and nearly bursting out from the wet junction happening between bodies, but it envelopes his cock and merely drips out. Long, drawn-out quakes move through your muscles, you think you might be rocking out on a stormy sea because there is no way your body can be doing this kind of movement on its own, but it _is,_ and you’re at Caspian’s mercy, now. There’s a new dampness on the sand you lay on now, wetter than before, and you know that the ocean has nothing to do with it.

As your orgasm runs the last of its course, you feel an uncontrollable shudder from Caspian’s hips, and you know that he’s following suit. Something hot and thick runs up into your body, you feel it flowing through your womb as he offers a few more shaking, unstable thrusts, moaning so beautifully in your ear you think you might have cum a third time if it were possible. Once all he can do is stay tense, still, as the last of his seed pumps out through his cock, he offers you a few more lazy kisses until he pulls out.

He pulls back, if only to look at the mess that he made, an aura of satisfaction pulling the edges of his mouth up. Again, he gives you a barrage of slowly paced kisses up the side of your neck, murmuring something like, “I should have made advancements sooner, love.”

“Yes,” you have to keep yourself from gasping, “yes, you should have, Caspian.”


End file.
